Miss McGonagall's Home for Magical Children
by Pumpkin-Peasy
Summary: What do you get when you love the HP fandom and become completely smitten with the story of Miss Peregrine? That's right, a crossover! And who better to be the stars of it than our favourite grandpa-grandson duo? Exactly! Is our main character going to find a way around his fantasy-deprived life? Are his grandpa's stories true? So many questions. (Picture by: Chris Petersen)


**A/N:** So I had this idea after I watched Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children, and got even further motivation after reading the first book, so here it is a try at a croossover between these two amazing fandoms! Just a little warning that not all the characters from HP are conterparts, so to say, to Miss Peregrine's characters. Also, I will use parts of the books and parts of the film, depending on which I find more apropriate. And a little final thing, I wanted to include fantastic beasts in this fanfiction (cause who's Newt without his beasts amirite?!) so I'll also make a little twist with it. But you'll see all of these in the devolopment of the story. So...hope you like it! (please leave a review telling what you think, and sorry if I make any gramatical/spelling/whatever mistakes)

 **Not-So-Mysterious-Person POV**

It was a dreadful year…wars, bombs, riots, everything pointed to a miserable year, but none confirmed it better than the rise of evil wizards, dark, magical people who vowed to conquer the whole world and subdue the good magic against them. I was a boy with no more than 15 years on my bones and in the streets of good old London, one didn't see anything but ash, clouds, dust…and advertisement: 'TO HELL WITH WITCHES!', 'Bring the fire!', 'Witches belong at the stake!', all nice and friendly as you can see.

For the normal and unobservant, these would either seem like a farfetched and exaggerated measure to confront a threat based on fairy tales, or the ultimate righteous way to confront Lucifer himself and his minions who threatened the peace in England. However, were you like me, or my parents, the only thing you'd read on those papers was "RUN". I didn't want to, I refused to be a coward like that, but just like a mother bear will hide their cub in a nearby bush to keep it away from danger, so did my own mama, not to a bush, to an old crowded ferry, with nothing but a kiss on my forehead and a ruffle in my hair from my father, never to see them again.

 **Not-So-Mysterious-Person's-Grandson POV**

Have you ever thought so, so much about your life that it becomes such an automatic action, that you find yourself staring into the endless void, holding a mug saying "I'm" and a picture of a horned dragon lizard next to it, scaring the person in front of you who now probably thinks you're a sicko? Well, if not, you're a lucky one, that's basically my day-to-day…not that a I have a ton of interesting stuff to think about, seriously, it couldn't be more opposite, at least during those times.

I always thought my life was the most boring, dull and uninteresting thing ever, damn I bet even snails or koalas had a more enthusiastic path in life. I always wished that something interesting would finally happen, to whisk me away of all that apathy, however I was never expecting what came to fulfil my desires, and nothing could have made me dream of anything similar. And that's what I will tell you, that fateful moment, the one that separated the before from the after, the then from the now, the once lethargic life I had from one I still can't quite define.

Everything started with my grandpa, Newton Scamander, or as friends and family would call him, Newt. He was this lively and awkward fellow, who had 3 things he loved like no others in this world: my grandma (so a person in this case), animals (also not a thing) and telling stories (ha! there's a thing! Or action...whatever). This last one was a main influence on me, since I was he's favourite spectator, ever since I was a little boy. He had travelled a lot as well, born in England to a British man and a Hungarian woman, soon went to her birth country, hoping for a good life working on his grandparents farm. Unfortunately, they were only met with horror and fled to England again, then he to Scotland. Every time I'd ask him why he had to flee he'd tell me that monsters were after him, horrible stinky creatures, with no eyes, no shadows, tentacles in their mouths, oh well, whatever came to his mind at the time. Then he would tell me these stories, about a house he went to as a kid,

'We had a headmistress, she was very clever, smoked a pipe and could turn into a cat!'

'You're joking grandpa!' I'd acuse him, only for him to chuckle lightly and then looking dead serious to me. 'You think I'd fool you, Rolf?'

Embarassed, I'd say 'No grandpa…but why were the monsters after you?'

'You see, we were not like regular people, we were _magical_ ' he said in a whisper as if to hide it from the walls. 'Peculiar, if you prefer'. Then my favourite part would start:

A metal box would come from under my bed to be in the middle of us, and inside dozens of old black and white pictures lied there, waiting to be looked at.

'But how do you mean, _magical_?' I already knew the answer, but the story seemed more and more exciting after each time grandpa Newt told it.

He passed me a picture, it had a set of clothes floating in the air, forming a human shape, and a pair of round glasses indicating where the head would be.

'This was Harry, he was invisible!'

'Wicked!' I exclaimed. 'Did he turn completely invisible if he went butt naked?'

Grandpa laughed, snorting a little on the process and answered 'Well, he _would,_ you see, Harry's problem was he was blind as a bat, which meant he had to take his glasses everywhere, which kind of gave him away whenever he'd try to spy on us.' I laughed with him. Another photo would come, this time of girl.

'Notice anything _peculiar_?' he smirked at me. I looked at the picture and saw a girl with long dark hair in a white dress, pretty normal if you'd ask me, but upon closer inspection, I noticed she wasn't quite "down to earth", more like it seemed she was levitating.

More pictures came, a boy holding a huge boulder above his head, another boy with what seemed like bees covering part of his face and shoulder, and finally a most disturbing one of the back of someone's head, with an extremely creepy face painted on it. There were also drawings, of exquisite beasts, winged lions, tiny branches with faces, dragons, everything one would see only in dreams. But not my grandpa, he affirmed those were their pets, which they also had to keep safe from the monsters. I'm guessing my affinity for animals came from there.

Soon story time would be over and off to bed I went, dreaming about the adventures I'd have if I went to the magical home. These stories, of course, continued for years, and I, being the gullible child that I (still) am, believed in them, to the point of taking the metal box to show the pictures at school.

'Those are fake!'

'Your grandpa's bonkers, you're bonkers!'

'Do you have more imaginary friends?'

'Hey Rolf, yesterday I went swimming with a mermaid, want her number so you can have a little tea party with the rest of your friends?'

And ultimately, the nickname of "Rolf the Fairy" landed on me. I confronted my grandfather, of course, asking why he had lied and made a fool out of me. He adjusted his rectangular glasses, gave me a look of profound hurt and never mentioned the stories again.

Back in the present and my still dull life, there I was working part-time at the local Zoo, again the fondness for animals was genetic apparently, I didn't have winged lions, but I had grumpy ones, I didn't have dragons, but I had chameleons! Anyway, that was when the manager came to me holding the phone.

'Rolf, I think it's your grandfather.' I took the phone from the tall, bearded man and started to speak.

'Hey grandpa, what's up?'

'Rolf! Oh, thank goodness, Rolf, where are the keys?!' he sounded agitated, very agitated.

'Dad took them from you, remember? For safe keeping, so you don't, you know, sleep walk into the room or something.' It was a vague attempt to make him laugh, which made him even more nervous.

'What?! Safe keeping?! How am I supposed to fight them, with the bloody butter knife?!'

'Grandpa, seriously, it's okay, nothing's going after you. How about I go to you? Sounds better?'

'You stay away from here you hear me? I'll try to pick the lock, I can't fight them without my equipment or my wand, or…' I couldn't figure out what he said afterwards, as he kept blabbering I could hear noises which made me believe he was rummaging through drawers looking for something to pick the lock.

'Grandpa?' I called and the call ended.

Soon I was calling the manager, Hagrid, asking him to give me a ride on his motorcycle. He was this fatherly type of guy who can never tell "no" if they like you, plus he was already kind of old, a giant like tall man, but with a certain softness to it, and the fact he had two dogs, one named Fang and the other Fluffy, wasn't helping his case. Moving forward, during the way he tried to reassure me, making me feel better, that my grandpa was okay. I don't know why but, this time, I was almost sure he wasn't and oh, how I wish I were wrong.

The neighbourhood grandpa Newt lived in was a bunch of houses lined up, all almost totally similar to each other, which made it difficult to us to find the correct way, especially with nothing but fog in front of us. Most of the people there were rich retired individuals who were taking that time of the year to go on vacations, leaving a "ghost neighbourhood" behind. One thing in particular that gave me and Hagrid the heebie-jeebies was this old man in a robe, watering his plants. I'm not quite sure if it was the fog, or the fact that his eyes shone in a very odd way when the motorcycle's lights pointed to him, but it did send several chills down my spine.

Finally, we reached grandpa Newt's house, there were no lights on and not a single sound came from there, nothing that indicated that some nervous old man was freaking out inside.

'Maybe he fell asleep.' Said Hagrid. I nodded and went to the front door.

'Grandpa?' I called as I knocked. 'Grandpa?' I could feel a smidge of despair growing inside me. I knocked more loudly. 'Grandpa, are you there?' Nothing.

I decided to try the backdoor, he usually left it unlocked, but this time, when I got there, to my utmost horror, the door wasn't only unlocked, it was completely open, half off the hinges, with an enormous hole through it. I rushed into the house only to find a mess of papers and broken baubles, as if a tornado had passed there. The door to the equipment room was locked, but my grandpa was nowhere to be seen.


End file.
